


Forever Our Father

by incogneat_oh



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Batdad, Father's Day fic, Fluff, Gen, Humour, weird families bonding weirdly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 06:00:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11178549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incogneat_oh/pseuds/incogneat_oh
Summary: The Batfamily does Father's Day.





	Forever Our Father

—  
It’s very early when Alfred answers the cautious knock at his bedroom door.   
  
Dick stands there, looking mildly exasperated. “Goddammit, Alfred,” he says. “Do you have any idea how early we got up to try get the jump on you?”  
  
“Good morning, Master Richard,” Alfred says, hiding his confusion, straightening his tie.  
  
Dick smiles, rubs the back of his neck a bit sheepishly. “Would you mind please sitting on the bed, at least? So we can pretend?”  
  
Alfred obeys silently, waiting to see where this is going. (He sometimes thinks he will never understand his charges.)  
  
Dick follows into the room after him, as do Tim and Damian. Jason lags behind.   
  
“May I ask to what I owe the pleasure?” Alfred inquires politely, when no explanation is forthcoming.  
  
“You know what day it is?”   
  
“It is Sunday, Master Dick. How very astute of you to notice.”  
  
Dick rolls his eyes, grin wide, as Jason hands the butler a breakfast tray. “Happy Father’s Day, Alfred!”  
  
“Young sirs,” Alfred says, eyes wide. “You certainly didn’t have to–”  
  
“We’re a pretty ungrateful bunch the rest of the year, Alf,” Dick says, kissing him on the cheek. “Let us do this?”  
  
Then Jason kisses him, too, quick and shy, the same as he’d always been when it came to displays of affection (the same boy who’d hugged him embarrassedly after an impromptu baking lesson, the one who’d proudly dragged him around, by the hand, at his school’s open day, quick to let go when he realised Bruce was watching), says, “Happy Father’s Day.”  
  
Tim kisses his cheek next, soft and unobtrusive. Genuine, but hesitant. In case the contact is unwanted. (Alfred is sure to smile up at him, delighted as the boy smiles back.)  
  
Then Damian, never to be outdone, stomps over to the bed, fuming. And then, glaring around at his brothers, as though daring them to mention it– leans forward to peck Alfred’s cheek. “Happy Father’s Day,” he mumbles, backing up quickly to glare at the wall. A blush dusts his cheeks (and how like his father he sometimes is, at this age) as Dick grins, proud.   
  
“Not to disappoint you, gentlemen, but I feel obligated to remind you I am not, in fact, any of your father,” Alfred says.  
  
Dick rolls his eyes again, sitting, uninvited on the bed. “Sorry, Alf,” he says. “There isn’t a Grandfather’s Day, so we hadda make do.”   
  
“I am… touched, young masters,” Alfred says sincerely. Then, beaming, “I particularly did not expect you to be here, Master Jason.”  
  
“The repla– the pret–  _baby bird_  is a bully.”  
  
  
  
[ _Jason doesn’t bother turning on the lights when he gets home. He’s exhausted and in a foul mood, absently stripping his jacket and tossing it onto the couch._  
  
 _Then he freezes, because there’s_ someone here,  _and he’s midway through reaching for a knife when the intruder speaks._  
  
 _“You ever thought about getting a cleaner?”_  
  
 _Jason relaxes, kicking off his boots. “You offerin’, baby bird?”_  
  
 _“Just making conversation.”_  
  
 _Jay flicks on the lamp beside the couch, says, “That what you’re doing here, pretender? Making conversation?”_  
  
 _“I figured you’d rather it was me here than Dick.” Tim’s in his civvies, expensive, well-worn jeans and a dark red sweater, a jacket casually slung over the arm of the couch. He looks perfectly manicured, perfectly at home._  
  
 _“What gives you that idea? Sure I fuckin’ hate Goldie, but I’ve tried to kill ‘im significantly less than I have you.”_  
  
 _Tim only shrugs._  
  
 _“Why do either of you have to be here?” Jason asks, taking the bait, because fuck the kid and his Bruce-like silences. Patrols must’ve been a riot with only this kid and Bruce, he thinks absently._  
  
 _“A reminder.”_  
  
 _“Oh yeah?”_  
  
 _“Next Sunday is Father’s Day–”_  
  
 _“And you want me to go in on a new pasta maker for the big man? That ain’t gonna happen, kid. Get the hell out of my apartment before I fuck you up,” Jason’s voice is a snarl because he can’t hold it in. The_ nerve  _of this little shit–_  
  
 _“Discounting Bruce entirely,” Tim says, ignoring the rest. “I’d assumed Alfred might mean something to you.”_  
  
 _There is a very long pause. “…Fuck you,” Jason says, without heat. He sits down, rubbing his eyes. “Fine. Of course I’m in.”_  
  
 _Tim smiles, sharp. “Excellent,” he says. ]_  
  
  
  
“That, and he’s the only one who can cook,” Dick adds cheerfully.  
  
“Damn right,” Jason says, as he and the two younger boys sit down, Jay on the floor against the wall, Tim in the chair by the bed, Damian dragged to sit beside Dick and Alfred. “I gotta say, Alf, you did a pretty good job with most of us so far, but you stick any of these guys in a kitchen and they’re gonna get themselves killed.”  
  
Damian scoffs. “We have dealt with things more perilous than a  _kitchen_ , Todd.”  
  
“Cooking not included at assassin boot camp?”  
  
It’s a few minutes before Alfred interrupts the bickering. “These eggs are delicious, Master Jason.”  
  
“Heh. Glad you like 'em, Alfie.”   
  
“What about the toast.”  
  
Alfred covers a knowing smile. “Cooked to perfection, Master Damian.”   
  
The boys continue conversation around him, probably arguing and mocking one another (Alfred has largely learned to tune this out) before he spots a white envelope under his breakfast plate.   
  
Wordlessly, he picks it up and examines the contents.  
  
“Young masters,” he says, mouth agape. “This is– too much.”  
  
“Alfie, if anyone deserves a holiday, it’s you,” Dick says, in a tone that brooks no argument. (He learned that from Bruce.)  
  
“The old man might be an ingrate, but we’re not,” Jay tells him.  
  
“We are… appreciative, of your efforts, Pennyworth.”  
  
“That’s his way of saying 'thanks’,” Dick mock-whispers, and Damian hits him in the side. Dick laughs, says, “C'mon, he’s way cooler than Ra’s.”   
  
“And if you don’t want to go to England,” Tim tells Alfred, earnest and a little shy. “The ticket and accommodation are all transferable, so you can pretty much go wherever you want.”  
  
“We reserve the right to veto warzones,” Dick says. “The condition is, of course, that you  _come back_.”  
  
“Young masters,” Alfred says, again. “I truly– am speechless. You boys,” he looks around at them, his grandsons, fiercely proud and a little choked up, “Certainly know how to make an old man feel special.  _Thank you_.”  
  
“You really are the best, Alf,” Dick says, in the slightly awkward pause that follows, as Alfred regains his composure.  
  
After another moment, Alfred says, “Do you boys have anything planned for Master Bruce?”  
  
“Ehh,” Dick stretches out, shrugging. “You know B. He’s super awkward about that stuff. I doubt he thinks we consider him our Dad, no matter what we say otherwise. We figured breakfast in bed will be just the right amount of awkward.”  
  
“I told you there’s no way I’m gonna–”  
  
“Shut up, Jay, we’ll figure it out. No one’s asking you.”  
  
  
 _[ Tim finds Dick and Damian in the kitchen. (It’s become something of a tradition, now, in the afternoons Dick is at the Manor. Once Damian’s claimed his snack from the bench, he sits at the table to attempt his homework, while Dick sits across from him to ask about his day.)_  
  
 _The teen glances around, surreptitious, says, “Alfred around?”_  
  
 _“Nah, he’s out shopping,” Dick says._  
  
 _“Bruce?”_  
  
 _“He’s out doing… some Brucie stuff. Something stupid. Why?” Concerned. “Something we can help with, Timmy?”_  
  
 _“Actually, yes,” Tim smiles, slips into a vacant chair._  
  
 _“I’m not helping you, Drake,” Damian announces automatically._  
  
 _Tim ignores him entirely, says, “It’s Father’s Day in a week and a bit, Dick. Any ideas?”_  
  
 _“Virtually none. B’s usually an ass about this kind of stuff anyway, you know?” He scratches his head thoughtfully, and pilfers one of Damian’s cookies. (Alfred always puts extra, anyway.)_  
  
 _“I mostly meant for Alfred. I was thinking we could give him a holiday? A plane ticket and some accommodation or something.”_  
  
 _“Yeah, sure; 'Happy Father’s Day, Alf, we don’t want you around’?”_  
  
 _Tim looks mildly horrified, shaking his head furiously. “That’s not–”_  
  
 _“Timmy, I was kidding,” Dick laughs, a bit guilty. Tim’s panicked look is a bit too much to handle. “That sounds great, I think he’d love it. God knows he deserves a break.”_  
  
 _“We’re sending Pennyworth away?” Damian looks up from his schoolwork with a frown._  
  
 _“For Father’s Day,” Dick confirms, smiling. “Sounds good, don’t you think D?”_  
  
 _“Pennyworth doesn’t have any children,” Damian says superiorly. Then, curious, “And wouldn’t you just send him where all the other fathers go?”_  
  
 _Dick and Tim share a long glance._  
  
 _“What d'you mean, D?” Dick asks, carefully._  
  
 _Damian tuts, dropping his pencil. “Well, do they all go to the same place, or what?”_  
  
 _“Damian,” Tim says, after a moment of stunned silence. “Do you… not know what Father’s Day is?”_  
  
 _The boy immediately colours a dark pink, scowling. “I– if you’d all stop_  hiding  _things from me–”_  
  
 _“Relax, D,” Dick says, trying to play it off as no big deal, because the kid looks like he’s about to blow. “Once a year, there’s a Sunday in June when you’re supposed to officially… I dunno, thank your dad. Like, bring him breakfast in bed, maybe buy him a present and treat him nice to show you’re grateful for everything he’s done.”_  
  
 _“That’s Father’s Day?” Damian asks doubtfully._  
  
 _“Yep.”_  
  
 _“Pennyworth isn’t your father.”_  
  
 _“He’s more like a grandfather, Damian,” Dick says, just on the right side of patient. “You of all people should know that family means much more than blood.”_  
  
 _Damian looks skeptical._  
  
 _“Okay, let me put it this way. Would you ever try to tell me that Bruce isn’t my dad?”_  
  
 _“… no.”_  
  
 _“Exactly.” Dick eyes linger on Damian, who’s staring at the table. Then, cheerfully, gently, “So, Dami, seeing how this is your first Father’s Day with your dad, maybe you could think of something to show him what he means to you?”_  
  
 _Damian just tuts again, looking away. His cheeks are still faintly pink, and he looks thoughtful._  
  
 _Sensing his youngest brother might need a minute, Dick turns away. “Timmy, you reckon we have a chance for getting Jay in on this? It’d mean a lot to Alfie.”_  
  
 _“I’ve already got a plan.” ]_  
  
  
“Anyway, Alfie, we’re gonna leave you to it,” Dick gets up, again dragging Damian with him. “Bruce might wake up in about 3 hours, we gotta be prepared.” And he winks.   
  
The boys start to trail out with various well-wishes, mumbles of “happy Father’s Day” and “love you, Alf”.   
  
“Master Jason,” Alfred says, and the overgrown boy stays behind, looking a little out of place in the immaculately kept bedroom.   
  
Self-conscious, he runs a hand through his hair (he forgets that Alfred knows all his tells). The white streak sticks up. “What can I do for you, Alfred?” the young man says, smiling wearily.   
  
Alfred sets the tray aside and stands. “You can accept it as truth when I tell you how much this household misses you.”  
  
Jason almost flinches, and won’t meet Alfred’s steely gaze. He stares, determinedly, at the windowsill. “Yeah, okay,” he says, after a moment of working his jaw. “Is that all?”  
  
“You misunderstand me, Master Jason,” Alfred smiles, gently. “I cannot express to you my gratitude for your coming here today. I appreciate how difficu–”  
  
Jason starts forward, pulling Alfred into a hug. In spite of his size, or perhaps because of it, he is almost unbearably gentle, as though he’s afraid he may break the older man. “Don’t strain yourself, Alfred,” Jay says gruffly, pulling back. But he’s smiling, a little. “British stiff upper lip and all that.”  
  
Then, as he’s on his way out of the room, Alfred speaks. Jason pauses in the doorway.“You will always have a home here, Master Jason. Whenever you choose to return.”  
  
When the man doesn’t respond, face shadowed, Alfred says, softer, “I mean that, Master Jay.”  
  
Jason half-turns, expression unreadable. “I know you do, Alf.” Then, closing his eyes, “Thank you.”  
  
“No, young sir,” Alfred tells him. “Thank  _you_.”   
  
–  
  
Dick opens the door as quietly as he can, sticking his head in. Then, withdrawing it, he calls into the hall, “Coast is clear, it’s a lady-free zone.”  
  
Bruce stirs slightly in his sleep, and half-turns on to his side.  
  
“Bru~uce,” Dick says, sing-song, as he bounds into the room. “C'mon Pops, no more sleeping in we have been awake  _forever_.” And then, as the man opens his eyes, “And please tell me you are wearing pjs under there?”  
  
“Dick?” Bruce sits up, looking vaguely annoyed. Very few people get to see the Batman rumpled from sleep. “What’s going on?”  
  
“Boys,” Dick calls behind him. “He’s awake and it looks like he’s decent!”  
  
Tim and Damian enter as Dick flops on the bed, sprawling happily beside his adopted dad. “…What?” he says, at the look Bruce gives him.   
  
“At the risk of sounding rude,” Bruce says flatly, after a moment. “What the hell are you doing in here.”  
  
“Boy, Alfie’s way more polite than you,” Dick says, tutting, as Damian, faintly pink, shoves a tray into his father’s hands, almost spilling the coffee. There are fresh made pancakes with blueberries, and a dollop of cream. “ 'n don’t be mean, Bruce, it’s father’s day.”  
  
“Uhh, yeah,” Tim says, as Dick sits up to drag Damian and Tim onto the bed. “Happy Father’s Day?”  
  
Damian mumbles something to the same effect while Bruce… frowns.  
  
“It’s June?” he says, finally, and Dick cracks up laughing.   
  
“Take our word for it, B. Happy Father’s Day.”  
  
“Thanks, boys,” Bruce says, smiling now. Then, “… I didn’t know any of you could cook.”  
  
“Pancakes is about the only thing in my repertoire,” Tim admits. “And we may have wasted a half-dozen eggs on our first attempt at the batter.”  
  
“Damian is overenthusiastic at smashing,” Dick offers, and Damian ducks his head and scowls.   
  
“I really appreciate the effort,” Bruce says, after a moment. Uncomfortable and sincere. “I mean… well, you didn’t have to… ”  
  
Bruce’s eyes flicker to the doorway. Jason’s shadow is visible on the wall in the hallway, one shoulder of his jacket visible through the door.   
  
Bruce looks conflicted.  
  
Damian tuts, turning on the bed. “Todd!” he yells, and the shoulder flinches. “If we can get over our awkwardness at this family ordeal–”  
  
“–occasion–”  
  
“–then you can too! I demand you enter this instant.”  
  
Jason leans against the doorjamb, says, “You’re a spoiled little shit, you know that?”   
  
He meets Bruce’s eye, and the man says, “Hello, Jay.”  
  
And Jason gives him this little half-nod, that says he cares, but not too much that he has to show it.  
  
The fact that they both suddenly look much happier is not much of a giveaway.  
  
Bruce is more amicable with coffee, and eventually gets started on the pancakes while the boys chatter around him. Tim flushes delightedly when Bruce compliments the pancakes, and Dick says, “Hey, I put butter in the pan!”  
  
“Nearly started a greasefire,” Damian mutters, and Dick retaliates by giving the squirming boy a noogie.   
  
Dick flops back to the bed tiredly as Damian pulls away, a smile stretched across his lips.   
  
Damian, however, freezes momentarily, as if remembering something. Then, he turns on the bed to face his father, but lowers his gaze to the covers. Hesitant. He licks his lips, says softly, “أنا أحبك وأنا سعيد لأنك أبي”  
  
For a long moment Bruce is silent, regarding Damian with something like surprise. Then he sets the tray beside him on the bed and pulls his youngest son into a hug, murmurs, “أحبك وأنا فخور أنت ابني”  
  
When he pulls away, Damian looks as if he just might cry. He doesn’t even protest when Tim discreetly squeezes his hand and smiles.   
  
“Oh yeah,” Dick says, from his spot on the bed. His eyes are closed. “Tell him about the thing, Tim.”  
  
“Um.”   
  
“You know how you’re really loaded and kind of an ass about accepting gifts?” Dick says, when Tim doesn’t continue.  
  
“Hn.”  
  
Dick kicks Tim, prompting him to speak. “We– er, that is, Damian and I, got around to doing some of those upgrades on the Batmobile you’ve been planning. And some new features.”  
  
There is a pause. “You touched the car?”  
  
“Deep breaths, B, you’ll love it,” Dick says, without opening his eyes.  
  
“And what was the extent of your contribution?” Bruce asks, amused.  
  
Dick says “Moral support!” at the same time as Damian says, “He bothered us.”  
  
“Well, thank you,” Bruce says, not-quite laughing. “I’ll look forward to checking it out.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” Dick mumbles, and Tim pinches him.  
  
“I wasn’t talking to you, Dick,” Bruce says, almost definitely laughing now. And then– “Are you… going to sleep on my bed?”  
  
“We have been up  _forever_ , did you not hear me before?” Dick says. He still hasn’t opened his eyes. “We got up _before the sun_ , Bruce  _do you know how early that is_.”   
  
“I have some idea.”  
  
“Be amused, jerkface, see if I care.”  
  
“You’re such an embarrassment, Goldie,” Jason snickers.  
  
“Aww shush.” He holds out his arms tiredly. “Someone c'mere, I need someone to cuddle. Don’t fight, there’re enough cuddles to go 'round.”  
  
Bruce picks up one of his pillows and eases it into Dick’s arms, shooing the boys out with a grin.  
  
The man, arms squeezing automatically, huffs at realising it’s not one of his little brothers. “No fair!” Dick protests. He opens an eye to an empty room. He half-sits up, can hear them laughing as they hurry down the hall away from him.  
  
“Assholes!” he calls, and huffs into the covers, closing his eyes again. Maybe just a nap…   
  
 **-THE END-**

**Author's Note:**

> The Arabic exchange between Bruce and Damian, according to Google, should translate to something along the lines of;   
> "I love you and I am glad you are my father."
> 
> "I love you and I am proud you are my son." 
> 
> Internet translations being what they are, I am very open to correction. 
> 
> This work is also available on [tumblr.](http://incogneat-oh.tumblr.com/post/17635980514/forever-our-father)


End file.
